Second Sunday of Advent, December 7, 2025
(click here to listen to or read today’s scriptures)
Remember
On that day, a shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse,
and from his roots a bud shall blossom.
Pearl Harbor. Shock on Sunday morning. Many American sailors killed. December 7, a day which will live in infamy. State of war exists with Japan and Germany. Never forget.
Most of those who could never forget that day are passed away by now. Mom and Dad were 19 years old in 1941, this year they would be 103. One hundred and three. Margaret’s dad, born in 1919, would be 106. Soon after December 7, Dad joined the Army, and Edward joined the Air Force.
On Friday, December 7, 2001 my parents visited us in Urbana, and we attended a special Pearl Harbor Day concert, presented by the Urbana High School Concert Band. Andi played flute in the band, which played a set of patriotic songs and arrangements. At the end of the evening the band played the official marching songs for each of the U.S. armed forces, and the old soldiers stood up, one by one, during the songs played for them. Tears were coming to their eyes.
The Army stood first.
Of course I remembered the famous song, “The Caissons Go Rolling Along.” Nationalism was never one of my strong suits. But as the notes struck the air, I watched as my dad stood. It was difficult for him to stand. His back was bowed, and he leaned on a cane.
He shall strike the ruthless with the rod of his mouth,
and with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked.
Justice shall be the band around his waist,
and faithfulness a belt upon his hips.
Margaret’s dad Edward would have stood too, had he been there, and saluted to the wild blue yonder. Our fathers were heroes. Lately I’ve been listening and watching World War Two come alive: the biography of Japan’s emperor Hirohito (that “Sunday” was Monday, December 8 in Japan, when the admirals expected “everyone would be tired from the weekend”), Franklin Roosevelt’s speech in Congress on December 8, 1941, David McCullough’s story of two Christmas songs popular in 1941 as he spoke before the vast Christmas crowd in the Mormon Tabernacle. McCullough’s memories continue, as they have for years, to break my heart and start me sobbing.
Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori. It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country. But what did Horace know?
Written in 1917 during World War One Wilfred Owen’s poem tore at my heartstrings when I heard Richard Burton’s reading. Despair, hopeless, heartless. Angry. I listened during the Vietnam War (why call it a “conflict”when it was a War?), and I lost my own respect for our leaders. My patriotism soured.
We talked at home after I joined the protesters in Chicago at the 1968 Democratic Convention. I remember Dad sitting across the table – sighing, frustrated, angry when I voiced my feelings. He turned his eyes away.
It was Dad who was remembering then.
I am certain of his choice to love me anyway, in spite of his anger and our disagreement. And today I remember his presence at Andi’s concert.
In the picture, you can see, of course, his smile. We were very happy that night, and I have no doubt he was happiest of all. The battles he fought during World War Two seemed both then, and now, to be so crucial to protecting the right of families like ours to live and grow and multiply, to celebrate and worship and rejoice together.
The baby shall play by the cobra’s den,
and the child lay his hand on the adder’s lair.
They will neither harm nor destroy
on all my holy mountain,
for the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the Lord
as the waters cover the sea.
Dad died a little less than a year later, on Thanksgiving Day 2002. He lived to be eighty. He lived to become a peacemaker in his community, an elder in his church, and a hero to those of us who knew him best. Today I’m more thankful than ever for what he fought for, and for him.
On that day, the root of Jesse,
set up as a signal for the nations,
the Gentiles shall seek out,
for his dwelling shall be glorious …
Justice shall flower in his days,
and profound peace, till the moon be no more.
May he rule from sea to sea,
and from the River to the ends of the earth.
You alone, Lord, give us direction for our righteousness. We depend on you. You alone are holy, you alone are good. So we praise you, we worship you. Give us ears to hear you, Lord.
 (Isaiah 11, Psalm 72, Romans 15, Luke 3, Matthew 3)
(posted at www.davesandel.net)
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